


Lunch With a God/ess

by NEStar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NEStar/pseuds/NEStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The park has always been one of her favorite places to find faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch With a God/ess

The park has always been one of her favorite places to find faces. The old man behind the hot dog cart might become a priest, two teenage girls might become handmaidens trailing after their mistress, who in real world was a homeless woman.

And the man in the suit who ate his lunch two benches down from her every day; the one with the sharp jaw, the sculpted lips, and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen... Well, he could become a revolutionary soldier leading a charge, St. George slaying the dragon, Apollo flying across the sky in his golden chariot.

\--------------------------------------------------

From: ztoa@ramsgate.edu  
Subject: All Hail the Greek God!

Hey bro!

You have got to come check out the minor exhibit at Rhea Hall. No excuses!

And be sure to find the one about the sun god!

Zak

\--------------------------------------------------

Zak had already left two voice mails about the stupid art exhibit and now this e-mail. Not this he didn't like art, but since when did his brother? So whatever had caught Zak's fancy undoubtedly leaned towards the sophomoric – or a naked girl.

Yeah, in Zak's mind the Venus De Milo was the sculpture of a girl with a great rack.

But on the other hand, if he went and saw the exhibit then he could swing by the dorms and have dinner with Zak.

As he shrugged into his jacket he sent Zak a text asking if he was in the mood for burgers or pizza

\--------------------------------------------------

“I figured I should meet you here,” Zak's voice cut through the haze that had enveloped his brain. “It's kind of awesome, isn't it?”

“What the hell, Zak?” he asked, hoping this was some joke his little brother had masterminded.

Next to him Zak snorted, “How should I know? You're the one on canvas.”

From a purely objective point of view the painting was amazing. An oil done in the Hudson River School style. The landscape that covered the bottom of the picture was rich and lush, the clouds in the sky managed to glow in the reflected light of Apollo's Chariot, but then there was the god himself...

“What the hell?” he said again, still trying to comprehend the fact that it was his own face painted there.

“Come on, Lee,” Zak nudged his shoulder, “You have to have some clue. Some chick who's idea of foreplay was capture you in all your glory or something?”

If only Zak knew the truth of his sex life; it was almost sad how long it had been since he'd gotten any.

“Nah, nothing like that. God, the only person I can even think of who sketches is the hot girl from...” his voiced stopped as a thought crashed into his brain. It couldn't be.

Could it?

Looking around the room, he spotted a small table with a pile of exhibit guides and ran towards them. Flipping through the pages he stopped breathing when he found the page listing for “Flight of Apollo” and a small black and white photo of the artist.

It was her.

The woman from the park. The one he'd been working up the courage to talk to (the one who had invaded his dreams and taken over his mind).

From behind him, Zak asked, “So, do you know her?”

“No,” he answered, “But I'm having lunch with her tomorrow.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Mr. Sex-in-a-suit was late.

Every day for the last two months he walked in from the south entrance at 12:17, sat down two bench away from her on the left, spread a napkin on his lap and ate his lunch.

It was 12:25 and he still wasn't here.

She never thought about where he went on the weekend or rainy days (sure she thought about _him_ , but never where he was or what he was doing), so why was this so different? It was like an itch that was just out of reach and it was pissing her off.

“So, it turns out that you've been imagining what I look like shirtless.”

She whipped her head to the right. He was sitting there, ever so casually at the end of her bench, spreading his napkin out over his knee.

“I hope you like turkey,” he said and held out a Styrofoam box.

She took the box, still trying to form a response – a thought – to what he said and why he was sitting next to her.

“I'm Lee, by the way,” he said and then bit into his sandwich.  
For a moment she just watched him, the way the muscles of his jaw worked as he chewed and swallowed.

“My brother goes to Ramsgate.” 

“Oh god, the Apollo,” realization floods through her, followed quickly by relief, “You aren't shirtless in that one.” 

“That _one_? Are there are others?”

Dear god, no one should be allowed to have a smile that beautiful. 

“Sorry to dash your dreams, but in none of them are you shirtless,” and thank god her brain is starting to work again. “You just happen to have a very heroic face.”

Oh lord, it's like someone turned a light bulb on behind his eyes. See, this right here – that's why she used him for Apollo.

\--------------------------------------------------

The next day Lee brought roast beef.

The day after that was ham.

Today is tuna.

“Despite the stereotype, I'm not a starving artist.” 

“I know. I read your bio at the exhibit, remember?” she's discovered that he likes to tease. “Kara Thrace, the bold talent who is breathing fresh life into the Hudson River School,” Lee quotes.

“Yeah, so you don't have to show up here with lunch every day,” she flips a chip at him.

He tosses it back at her and the next minute is spent in a one item food fight.

“Okay then,” Lee says once the chip has bounced onto the ground and been snapped up by a pigeon. “How about dinner?”

\--------------------------------------------------

The biggest irony, she discovers, is the fact that Lee actually flies.

“Well, I used to fly,” he says as they split an order of potato skins. “But two years ago I hurt my shoulder, so I got switched to the office and somehow have yet to be switched back.” 

Lee goes on to explain about Archer Air and regional flights and airports without the word “International” in their names. She talks about growing up as an Army brat and how art was something she never had to learn a new language to understand and the quarter share of a gallery that she owns. 

As Lee walks her home she's trying desperately to think of something to say that won't make her sound like an idiot but will still get him on her couch with his mouth on her neck.

“Well, this is me,” and that is not going to do it.

Lee looks up at the building, then back at her, “So, is this the part of the evening where the great artist invites the naive young model up to look at sketches?”

“You're not naive,” she says with a laugh.

“Yeah,” Lee smiles and moves closer to her, “which means it'd be that much easier for you to finally see me with my shirt off.”

\--------------------------------------------------

She works quickly, barely glancing at her pad. There's a little girl with messy hair by the oak tree whose face is scrunched up as she studies a bug. Suddenly the bug flies away and the girl is gone.

“She'd make a good cherub.”

She smiles up at Lee, “And what's today's offering?”

He opens both boxes, “Your choice between grilled cheese with tomato and mushrooms or ham with honey mustard and apple.”

“God, Lee, what kind of restaurant did you go to?” she asks as she takes a half of each.

“The one that was only a block away and was recommended by three of the security guards here.” He lays down on the grass next to her and smiles, “We should stop by there again before we leave, you'll love it.”

She eats her lunch in silence, just enjoying the sun on her skin and the sound of Lee chattering about the knitted cookie monster hat the kid who took his order was wearing.

“So, are we going back inside?” 

Lee's question pulls her out of her post food haze, “Would you be board out of your mind if I said yes?”

“No,” he steals a kiss as he sits up, “I am the one who picked this place, remember?”

“You did,” she says with a smile, “you and your need to research.”

“We could have gone to see the “Voyage” at the National Gallery; fighting with tourists and being stuck ten feet away.” He stands up and then offers her a hand.

Once she's on her feet she takes the opportunity to brush some nonexistent grass off of his ass, “I'm still kind of shocked that the National has copies while the originals are in this amazing little collection.”

“And you mock the research,” he says before stealing another kiss. “Go, pay homage to your roots. Just remember, no more sketching once we get back to the hotel.”

“I don't know,” she says softly as they enter the museum, “I was thinking of doing a painting of the creation of man. I'll need some reference for Adam.”

“I'll get the food, I'll wait while you study your masters, but it's our honeymoon, Kara, if I'm going to be naked, it won't be so you can draw a picture.”


End file.
